“Wal, no, not so much as you might think; they’s a good deal of work on my place. I’ve been sickly, though, a good bit of my life, an’ had to sit by an’ let others do it. I know, Miss Barb’ry, that I’ve got the reputation of bein’ lazy, but it ain’t true: I ain’t lazy; I don’t mind workin’, but I don’t like to _have_ to work. That’s what I like about vegetablin’: I can rest a little as I go along.” “You are fortunate!” There was a pause as the stubborn iron squeaked its way over the half-dry linen. “Wal, I guess I must be goin’. You wouldn’t like no egg-plant, would ye?” “No, I think not.” “Shell I bring in a little pie-plant before I go? Ye might change your mind if you was to see it.” “No, I won’t trouble you.” “No trouble at all, even if it is a hot day. You’re sure you don’t want it?” “Yes, I’m sure.” “Wal, good-day, then. Don’t fergit my respects to your ma.” Out of the kitchen door waddled Mr. Hopkins. In at the same door he waddled a few seconds later. “Hate to int’rupt ye, Miss Barb’ry,” he said mysteriously, “but jest look a’ here.” “What is it?” inquired Barbara, suspiciously, fearing she was being enticed to the vegetable wagon. “That’s what I don’t know,” said Mr. Hopkins. The Vegetable Man led the way around the walk at the side of the house. He stopped at the turn, where the syringa and the lilac mingled their branches in a leafy roof. The sun and the leaves made a checkerboard of light and shade below, and here in the dancing flecks of sunshine lay a grotesque little figure, asleep. It was Gassy, but such a sadly changed Gassy! Reckless hands and a pair of scissors had worked havoc with the hair that had been “too stiff to lie smooth, and too thin to fluff.” Except for the crown of the head, where a few locks stood erect, like faithful sentinels on a battle-swept field, the scalp was almost as bare as a billiard ball. Not content with devastating her enemy, Gassy had concealed the last sign of the hated color by covering the remains with a coating of black. Perspiration and tears had aided its extension, and two streaks of the dark fluid had found their way down her cheeks. There were traces of recent crying about the closed eyes, and a damp handkerchief was tightly clutched in one of the thin little hands. [Illustration: SUCH A SADLY CHANGED GASSY] Barbara dismissed the Vegetable Man with a few whispered words of explanation, walking with him to the gate to insure his departure. Then she returned to the syringa-bush, and took the shorn little head in her lap. Gassy started, and sat erect. For a moment she looked bewildered; then she remembered, and her proud little voice said defiantly:— “I guess I won’t look like a Circassian Lady, now!”